


burn just like a firefly

by Pyracantha



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley are still endgame, Based on a Mother Mother Song, Before he got up there and made a little trouble, Call him what you will, Comfort Sex, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Legion or Eric, M/M, Pining, Pre Aziraphale, Rare Pairings, Relationships that can't last, Remembering the one who helped you in the dark, Sad Ending, Sometimes you just need a little sex and comfort from the person who is there, The Fall (Good Omens), old flame, touch starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29301117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyracantha/pseuds/Pyracantha
Summary: After the fall Crawley finds a demon who needs some help and he could use some help himself.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Disposable Demon (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 26





	1. and we would steal each other's grief

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little pre-Aziraphale idea that I couldn't shake. Touch starved hurt comfort is my weakness. I also like thinking of Crowley as someone who is still hopeful even after the fall. This will earn it's rating in the next two chapters. 
> 
> Thanks to @lazulibundtcake for giving this a onceover. All mistakes are mine. <3 
> 
> Title from : Mouth of the Devil by Mother Mother

No matter what he said later in life there was nothing sauntering about Crawley’s fall. He goes from brightness to blinding darkness in an instant that takes a thousand years. 

Crawling out of the pit of boiling sulphur is the most unreasonable, hateful, difficult, thing he has to do; the urge to just lay there until he boils away is so strong but the agony of his body being unceasingly remade is too much to bear. With an iron core of will he has somehow retained he makes the first movement towards the edge. It is more anguish, pain so overwhelming he, even he, a being made to withstand so much, has to stop. In this way he continues, a movement until he can bear no more, then a pause, so he makes the journey to lever himself out onto the rocky ground. 

He’s on his belly on the rock floor, a charred and broken an- no, a demon, the demon Crawley. It’s fitting, he thinks with a huff as he lies on the hard ground trying to catch his breath. 

Everything hurts, of course it does. He can feel every feather that burned away in the fire and the pit rebuild itself. It’s too fast and he gasps as each feather is shoved back into his wings. It feels like they are streaming blood and fuck it, this is Hell they probably are. He doesn’t look. His eyes close until he can feel the full weight of his wings again. In a very small corner of his mind he locks away the thought that he is so glad that they are still with him. He catches sight of a primary out of the corner of his eye and huffs again. 

Black, of course. He actually finds just enough of a spark to roll his eyes.  _ So cliche. _

Finally when his body is some semblance of whole he stands groaning with every stretch of new muscle and bone; his viscera continuing to rearrange itself into his new corporation. As he stretches and assesses his ability to walk any farther than the wall in front of him he hears a soft cry to his left.

Turning he can see a demon, but also not see him, it’s as if he is forming and reforming over and over again. It looks painful and horrifying; the noises the demon makes are piteous and cry out to Crawley’s inner, well his former nature. On still trembling legs Crawley moves towards him. He slowly reaches out his hand

“Hey, hey, shuush.” He tries to make his voice comforting. His voice is rusty, free from the tintinnabulation of Heaven.

The demon tries to turn towards him but apparently moving is a torment. He cries out again.

Crawley moves closer and tries somehow to put a hand to the demon’s shoulder as it shimmers into and out of existence. When Crawley’s hand meets flesh the transformations still.

“What, what did you do?” The demon gasps, his breath coming in harsh pants.

“I’m not sure.” Crawley tries to move his hand. 

Immediately the demon cries out, “No! Please. It’s helping. It’s, it’s quiet now. Maybe I can fix it, make it stop.” He looks at Crawley’s face and a blush creeps over his features. “You, your touch feels good.” He ducks his head and adds softly. “It’s the first good thing I’ve felt. Please.”

He’s so heartbreaking and pretty. Crawley can’t leave him; it’s too immediate a feeling, abandonment. A small gap opens in his chest and it feels like a tiny bit of the grace he lost is glowing there. He gives the demon a small smile. “You feel good to me too. I’m glad it helps.”

Crawley casts an objective eye over the many scenes of terror and confusion here in this cave. Some here are pitiable, some are ugly, some are vicious and brutal; all Crawley wants is a hushed space where he’s not being seen by all the revolting rebellion. He wants something for himself. He looks down at the expressive eyes seeing him with wariness but also hope. 

He sighs. “Let’s find somewhere quiet yes?” He helps the demon to stand, and hand in hand they skirt the pit to climb the rock slides to find a silent place that will for a very little while shelter them so they can heal. 


	2. a sea of flesh but it was never enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comfort is given and taken by two shipwrecked beings tossed into an incendiary storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags updated to include : anal sex

They set off over a ridge, the unsettled demon leaning heavily on Crawley. Some instinct to cradle him wells up and he continues to stroke the trembling one as he phases a bit at the edges when a particularly bad shudder runs through his lithe body. 

Crawley sees a outcropping in the blue tinged gloom and heads for the shadows writhing underneath.

“Here, can you?” Crawly hesitates, “I don’t know what to call you.” he whispers.

The demon looks at him, wet eyes large in his frightened face, “I don’t know either. The sword is all I remember, and pain. All my pieces.” He breaks off, crying again.

“Shhh, shh.” Crawley pulls him close as he finds a place to lean against the wall. He pulls the demon into his lap, running his hands up and down his back, gentle circles rubbing between his shoulders where his wings should be.

The demon gives a sigh and clings to Crawley, nuzzling into his neck as the gentle touches soothe his outburst. His crying becoming a sort of tuneless him into Crawley’s flesh. His lips feel warm and soft on Crawly’s skin.

He can feel the demon shift so he’s more comfortably slotted around Crawley’s waist. His arms tight around Crawley’s shoulders.

His skin is so soft. He's the first soft thing Crawley’s felt since the pit. He can’t help making his circles on the demon’s back wider, feeling the strong muscles flex beneath his hands. His hands eventually slide up into the demon’s hair. It’s dark and springy, soft to the touch. The demon sighs as Crawley rubs his scalp through his curls.

He moves his hands to the demon’s temples and rubs circles there until the demon tilts his head back, his dark eyes now languid with something like desire. They lock on to Crawley’s golden gaze pulled in and drowning in the yearning he sees reflecting back. 

They lean towards each other, lips meeting in a quiet hum. It turns Crawley’s insides to liquid fire, shining in the dark places still raw from desecration. He deepens the kiss wringing a moan from the demon and a tightening of his legs around Crawley’s waist. He can feel the demon, hard against his belly. He slides his hands down his back to the cleft of his ass.

He can feel the demon clenching against his hand. He circles his entrance with a finger, wondering if he can still miracle it slick. He closes his eyes and snaps a bit of energy up from the ground and slides his finger past the rim easily. He files that away for later as he relishes the richer sound of the demon's keen as he thrusts into his tight heat. Soon he’s leaning back into it fucking himself on Crawley’s finger, so he adds a second to a pleased gasp.

Watching the demon lose himself in this pleasure is a sweet distraction. He loses control of the edges of himself, his corporation blurring like a watercolour. He’s beautiful like this, gasping, head thrown back to expose his lovely throat. Crawley can’t help licking his way from nipple to jaw, nipping marks along the way.

Stopping to whisper sweet nothings in the demon's ear as he removes his fingers and lines up his cock.

“Steady precious one,” he whispers as he thrusts inside in one sinuous movement.

The demon moans and Crawley shushes him again. Rocking him gently, filling him up and shallowly thrusting. Crawley slides his hand between them and takes the demon’s flushed cock in hand, smoothing the beaded slick over the head, watching the face of this ruined beauty glow with pleasure.

He times his small thrusts to the smooth strokes to the demon's cock and he gentles his hand over the demon's throat, reminding him to be quiet lest they be heard by the other more ravenous beings. This has a dizzying effect on the demon as his eyes roll back in his head and his body sways and separates, so for an instant he’s insubstantial as smoke. Then he's slammed back to physicality to come in clenching pulses, his whole body seizing so that Crawly’s orgasm is pulled from him blazing like blue sulphur.

The aftershocks carry on and on as they cling together, like two ships bound together to survive a punishing storm. Which Crawley supposes they are, here in the pit. He sighs. The demon lays his head on Crawley’s shoulder and they stay there huddled together taking comfort from each other for as long as they can.

Eventually they are found and rounded up as are all the demons in the pit. The last Crawley sees of his small demon he’s being dragged along a stinking corridor struggling with Hastur.

They lock eyes once and Crawley makes himself turn away. There can be no alliances here. It was a miracle they had any time for comfort or joy in this Stygian nightmare. He pulls himself together and moves forward to the next task of survival.


	3. we were thin but we were thick as thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and so we come to the end.

“I’ve always wanted to hit an angel.” 

Crowley steels himself as Eric walks towards him. That cocky self assured way he has of holding himself. Like he hasn’t a care in the world. Crowley knows better of course. It doesn’t pay to let Hell know how to hurt you, he’s an expert in that. 

Knowing that these fucking angels would just let a demon abuse Aziraphale even while he’s tied here helpless is setting his mind on fire. Seeing Eric as the one offering to hurt his angel is salt in the wound. All the while he can’t do anything but radiate the love over steel he knows Aziraphale would offer them. He lifts his head and meets his torturer’s eyes head on. 

When their eyes meet something happens, something complicated and sudden. Like a moment out of time, or a piece of someone out of sync. All Crowley’s brain gives him is a distilled moment of bleak horror and then it’s gone. He barely has time to move a cheek muscle and Eric is saying, “I should be going back.” He’s gone before Crowley has time to think about it and then the execution is moving forward. Crowley concentrates knowing that Aziraphale’s life depends on him, _their_ life depends on them both. 

\---

Aziraphale is currently lying in Crowley’s arms drowsy and languid, the result of an afternoon spent cozily under the duvet in bed getting up to all manner of activities while the snow falls softly outside their cottage. He’s been peppering Crowley with questions lately, questions about things from before, about Hell, about his fall, things Crowley’s not opposed to talking about in theory. In practice it can be something else altogether.

“What, I mean, why...ah hell.” Crowley scrubs a hand across his face as Aziraphale’s last question registers. 

“I’m just curious what it was like there, in the beginning. You don’t have to tell me dearest, if it bothers you.” He places his hand on Crowley’s wholly unnecessary heart and strokes gently with his thumb.

Crowley sighs remembering the flickering blue light and the pain. Being made and unmade in the pit and dragging himself out of the fires. How even then he was looking for hope in the brutality, finding himself a help to someone and taking comfort, giving comfort. 

“Ah, it was, it doesn’t bother me, ‘course not. It’s just,” he shakes his head, “ it was just so brutal, Angel. So ugly.” 

He stops again and Aziraphale keeps up his gentle circles on Crowley’s chest. Just waits patiently to hear anything Crowley will share.  
“When I could finally stand, all I wanted to do was to find some small way to protect myself. It was agony, Angel. I just wanted to get somewhere dark and quiet.” 

This time when he pauses Aziraphale looks up at him, clear blue eyes meeting his troubled gold. “Dearest, we have all the time in the world.”

“I know, Angel. I know.” He gives a small smile and cups Aziraphale’s cheek. He’s rewarded with a kiss to the palm and the angel settles his head back down. 

“Ah, so I just started walking and, oh Angel, I found a demon who wasn’t able to form, I guess? He was just shimmering in and out and crying like a kitten. I went to him and when I touched him, he was able to be still. He was so frightened I was going to let go.” 

Aziraphale takes his hand and laces their fingers together as he continues. 

“We found some shelter in the rocks, away from the others, away from their ugliness. In the dark we could just hold on, just take some comfort. In touch, in the feel of each other. It was the only softness we had.” 

Aziraphale sits up so he can see Crowley properly, the duvet bunched around his waist. He cups Crowley’s cheek wiping away tears with his thumb. 

“Did you ever see him after?” he asks softly. His beautiful face is so concerned, not just for Crowley but for a newly formed demon from before time properly began. Crowley loves him so much it aches. He smiles around the throb of this very old wound. 

“Yeah I saw him around. Didn’t do a lot of reminiscing about the bad old days though.”

Crowley lets out a breath, pulls the sheet up and scrubs it over his face. He’s trying to get all the tears and he hopes, the pain off of his face. He’s only mostly successful. When he drops the sheet, his eyes are red, his hair is mussed, and his cheeks are still a bit shiny. 

Aziraphale pulls him close and kisses him. A warm sweet kiss that quickly turns into an angel’s attempt to pour 6000 years of devotion through his lips. It tastes like lightning and honey, like the warmth of sun on skin, a little bit like hope, but mostly like love.


End file.
